Father Severest


vampire spankedThe wind chose that moment to rise, sending a sudden rushing sound through the surrounding trees silhouetted against a slate-grey sky. It was a transient violence that passed as quickly as it had come so that the graveyard once was again as quiet as before.

Anya paused to listen, her senses acute to the merest sound. She dismissed the short hoot of an owl, which even a mortal would have heard and concentrated instead upon subtle rustle of rats in the undergrowth feasting among the tombs.

Somewhere beyond the cemetery walls the banshee call of a mortal vehicle came close and then fled from her; a police car rushing to mortal aid in the night, she realised. These were new sounds that assailed the world; an alien cacophony that had stolen a march since her mortal days within the light.

Yet she was still young, it having been little more than 30,000 nights since she had been turned.

Night; she sighed at the word, drawing on the comfort of the sound as she glanced for reassurance at the black blanket that shrouded the world, although she fancied that the eastern sky was a little greyer than it had been.

She had fed at sunset at the behest of the Dark Father. Her prey had been a sweet young girl running home late. As ordered, she had not drained the girl, but merely tasted her and then marked her soul for possible later retrieval should it be desired. Anya pursed her cold full lips. If He should allow it she amended. Father kept her on a short leash and she was forbidden to from leaving the cemetery, except for light blood taking during the fresh cover of dark.

Such scattered tastings kept her almost sated for hours. Almost, but not quite, she thought bitterly, for the thirst was always with her. But it was now nearer dawn than dusk and with the dread sun in ascendant, she was again assaulted by her cravings.

Anya eyed the shadow of the crypt through the trees. Her once chestnut irises now like blackened holes in her marble white face. A visage that was an echo of the marble white angels set among the tombs about her.

The crypt was a high ornate affair and fit for a prince. It was also gaudy and Gothic, long out of fashion even when she had been taken. Such a cliché, she allowed herself; a criticism not to be voiced silently or otherwise within the Dark Father’s presence.

Still the graveyard was all but abandoned within the fashionable inner suburb of the metropolis and overgrown; home to owls and rats by night and the very occasional internment by day. With a thriving high street beyond its walls, it provided both a sanctuary and food.

For the Dark Father and her senior kindred, it also provided sport and recreation, but not for her. She was deemed too young to risk mingling with mortals and after feeding she was set to guarding the lair.

Anya eyed the grey eastern sky and cringed. Her skin itched a little as she imagined the sun’s scouring light. It had been more than 80 years since she had walked in its glow and she saw it now, only in her dreams.

Then somewhere across the necropolis came a sound that did not belong. All her senses were sharp now and she focused on the intrusion until it burned within her.

Two sets of mortal feet had landed in quick succession on the gravel path under the far wall. By the sound she adjudged that it was one male and one female. A giggle followed by a masculine growl confirmed it.

She could smell them now. They were both young.

Anya had not the power to fade into shadows and by her kind’s standard she was not that silent. But in the dark she was nimble enough to get closer without being seen.

The young immortal skipped across twisted headstones with an alacrity that would have rendered her but a blur to human eyes and she closed with her unexpected prey in a few beats of a tethered goat’s heart.

They were drunk.

The girl was a little younger than Anya had been when taken, perhaps just 19. She was a pretty thing with straggled shoulder length fair hair and a vulgar short skirt that revealed her thighs to Anya’s sepia vision.

The boy was a little older and perhaps more drunk than his girlfriend.

Anya could take them both easily, but that was not the problem.

She was still considering her next move when the boy looked up and staggered around to look in her direction.

“That creepy angel has black hair,” he slurred.

The girl lay back on the flat top of a grave stone and pointedly forlornly at the sky.

“They can do that now,” she said dreamily, “made from black and white marble I expect.”

Anya realised that the boy had seen her and inclined her head just a nudge.

“Holy shit,” the boy gasped.

He stepped back and tripped on his own left foot and tumbled to the gravel path.

The girl laughed unsympathetically and hugged herself with glee.

“She moved, she fucking moved,” the youth exclaimed as he struggled to get to his feet.

“Shut up,” the girl dismissed him.

Seeing that the girl had not even turned to look, Anya slowly folded her arms.

“Fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck,” the youth gasped backing away his eyes fixed in horror on the animated statute.

Anya tilted her head to the other side as if sizing him up for a meal.

He fled.

The girl sat up and crinkled up her nose. She shifted awkwardly on the grave top and in short stiff movements, pivoted around until she sat looking at Anya.

The immortal woman did not move, but stood watching the girl even as she listened to the boyfriend fleeing.

“You’re beautiful,” the girl whispered in awe, “I never noticed you before.”

Anya said nothing but noted with satisfaction that the youth, still spitting curses, had gained the wall and was scrambling back over it forgetting his companion entirely.

The girl got unsteadily to her feet and came closer.

“He’s right, you do have black hair. How do they do that?” The girl leaned forward and peered at Anya.

“Come back, it’s only a flipping statue,” the girl said in an amused voice and casting a look in the direction of her friend. She was oblivious to the fact that he had already departed.

When she turned back the statue had gone.

“Wah,” she gasped and tumbled back to sit on her previous gravestone.

Suddenly behind her, the black-haired porcelain-faced woman in a grey dress leaned on the headstone and whispered, “Thank you for the compliment.”

The girl whirled around and clasped at her heart. For a moment the dark eyes that regarded her gave her a feeling of dread and then unable to comprehend anything so sinister she replied, “Jesus, you gave me a fright.”

“Oh, I have that effect on a lot of people,” Anya purred.

Then before the girl could say more the strange pale woman leaned forward and kissed her.

“Look I don’t…” the girl muttered once Anya had broken contact, but she felt light-headed and something stirred between her legs more fiercely than the now fleeing Kevin had ever made her feel.

“Shush,” Anya said in a drawn out hushed whispered, “You have beautiful eyes.”

“How… how can you see in this light?” The mundane question put the dazed girl on more solid ground.

“I can see almost as well as you can during the day,” Anya explained and kissed the girl again.

This time she projected her will onto the girl and attempted to hold her with her mind as the Dark Father had taught her. Then certain the girl was at least momentarily in her thrall she transferred her lips to the girl’s neck and kissed her there. Her tongue caressed the soft warm flesh like velvet on silk.

“I-I don’t… don’t understand,” the girl murmured.

“I know,” Anya soothed her.

Then with a firm but gentle flick of her thumbnail she sliced a small incision across the hot vein and tasted the red flowing life force.

Instantly Anya was a goddess, her world becoming Technicolor and more vivid than it had ever been in mortal life. As the two women merged Anya glimpsed the girl’s life; random pictures of a sordid flat and small rusty car. A name, Susie came to her and the she saw the girl yelling silently at an older version of herself. The mother, Anya knew.

Then like a speeded movie of her mortal youth, Anya’s vision scrolled through to the moment and she saw the girl’s desire for her; reinforced by the feeding glamour. Partially sated now, Anya pulled back and with renewed strength imposed her will more strongly on the girl.

“Get undressed,” Anya whispered.


Anya sat up revelling in the feel of the rough cold stone on her exposed buttocks. It had been a long time since Anya had found such a release. In her blood youth, she had been a bit wild and had paid the price; just one of the reasons the Dark Father kept her on a short leash. But this stray mortal girl was what her old mortal grandmother would have called a windfall.

The blonde was also still naked and lay stretched out in a decorous stupor on the grave next to her. The curve of her buttocks a smooth white marble that echoed her conqueror and for one faint moment the old-young blood-thralled seductress indulged a fantasy that she could turn her new companion. But such things were for elders and the Dark Father. She was far too young in the blood to be capable of such things and besides, it was forbidden without permission.

The sky to the east was a bright grey now and already the indirect glow began its warning itch upon Anya’s flesh. But it had been a good night and for once she was sated. Well, almost sated, for already a dry tight insistent urge began a gentle pull at her soul; an old friend that she had learned to embrace.

Anya turned her will on the girl and seized her soul until it was as if putty to mould.

“Do not wake until the sun has full risen and then go home,” Anya cooed to the girl. “Remember the mortal girl you met with delight and seek out another.”

The Dark Father had taught her that mortals were best guiled with pleasure rather than fear.

“Forget this place and never return.” It was almost a song.

“Forget this place,” Susie mumbled in her sleep.

“That’s right and oh, dump that cowardly berk Kevin for being frightened of a girl in a cemetery.”

“Dump Kevin,” Susie intoned.

Anya sat back and looked again at the sky.

“It will be day soon,” a cold dark voice said from the cloak of night.

Anya started and whirled around to confront it.

“You handled that rather well,” the same voice said from behind her now.

“Father I…” A soul-quailed Anya swallowed hard.

“Shush,” The Dark Father breathed as he formed in the shadows before her.

His visage was calm and pale with hard noble angles beneath translucent smooth skin. Anya dropped to her knees as he loomed over her, his eyes jet pits under a thick mane of blue-black hair.

“Tell me, what was your plan for the other?” The Dark Father’s voice was calm, almost gentle like velvet draped over iron.

“I-eh I thought his tales of moving statues would not be believed,” Anya ventured.

“Nor will they… once. But remember last time, the rumours of the risen, and the people with moving cameras following the mob?” Father ran a single finger over his tongue as he spoke and then inclined his head with a cold gesture that encompassed the graveyard.

“Yes, but that was…” Anya was about to blame another, but she knew that wasn’t the point. “Yes Father.”

“You revealed yourself for… pleasure and risked exposing our lair,” Father said in a lower tone now, one with more sternness.

“Yes,” Anya whispered, looking all of the twenty-going-on-one-hundred childe that she was.

“Perhaps you missed the Charleston,” the Dark Father mocked her.

Anya did not reply and bowed her head as she bit upon her lower lip.

“Gather your clothes and return with me,” he snarled.

Anya hastened to obey and then still naked ran after her strolling sire back to their lair.


The lair was one of the bigger crypts away from the main pathways where it was the most overgrown. It had been chosen with care as a structure that was neither of particular historical merit nor one associated with a still extant family.

It was a temporary haunt for the clan, while a more comfortable abode was found. The only problem was, temporary had a whole different meaning to the immortal and nine of them had slept here for more than five years now.

The Dark Father was waiting for her in the entrance.

“You know you will be punished,” he said.

She thrilled with fear and she felt like a mortal child again. Immortal punishments were a terror to behold. For exposing the lair she might be exposed to the fast approaching day or…

“You are forbidden to feed for one month,” The Dark Father’s words cut into her thoughts. “You will remain in the graveyard until further notice.”

The horror of exposure was lifted with the words, but the bond between them was great and she hadn’t truly thought she faced destruction. However, an interdiction against feeding herself would leave her at the mercy of the clan. She would have to beg and sexually service her fellows for finger drippings and vermin. The latter her sole source of food until the restriction was lifted.

“Please Father I…”

“I have not finished.” The words were a knell of doom and Anya cringed. “In the nights that follow you will gather wild garlic, hawthorn and the like, you know what for.”

He waited until she nodded dumbly in assent.

“If wild garlic is not to be had, then you will crave for it form the others,” he told her, “For I will need much.”

To crave was to perform the lowest possible service for favours. Never since she was first taken had she been so treated. As for the garlic, it had but one use. A birch withe or wand of barbed hawthorn was used to thrash wayward ones such as her. If dipped in garlic first then the effects of the beating would be keenly felt across her bottom and she would not sit for days as if she were mortal. It was just, she knew, at least…

“But to chasten you still further, I have one more point to make.” They were words lightly spoken and not explained.

No explanation was necessary. In a trice she was turned naked over the Dark Father’s lap so that her bare bottom was uppermost on his knee.

“Oh Father, please not here,” Anya wailed.

The door to the lair was in full view of all of the returning clan. A spanking here would be seen by all. But no more protests were to be heard as the first spank landed with a splat that would have broken a mortal woman.

Anya’s face cracked in dismay as she struggled in shame on the Dark Father’s lap. As the spanking began it was still the embarrassment more than the pain that troubled her. Spankings were much used by her kind upon the female young and even old ones might be so chastised by their sires. It was a mark of the bond between sire and childe. However, beyond the first years of turning it was usually a private affair.

A spanking from the Dark Father was a common thing and to be endured, not resented, but this was too shameful.

“Oh please lord,” Anya wailed and blubbed like a child as the sting overtook her injured pride.

Oh at least it would have if Oliver had not returned.

“What have we here?” The newcomer chuckled and leaned at the doorpost to watch.

“Oooh,” Anya squealed, but to no avail.

The spanking lasted a good while and all the kindred had born witness before the Dark Father brought matters to a close.

“When not asleep this day, you will stand in the corner by the door bellow,” Father growled.

“Yes Sir,” Anya sobbed, as a young one she slept little and she knew she was about to face a long miserable day.


7 Responses to “Father Severest”

  1. 1 paul1510

    Damian, different and quite fun. 😉 😀

  2. 2 Kia

    What a wonderful story, and just when I thought Halloween was over for another year! A touch of the supernatural is a great way to start the day. Thanks for prolonging my favorite season. 🙂

  3. 3 Old Tom

    Unusual and gripping

  4. 4 Mark

    This is an original and creative set up. The nature of the story makes the forbidding mysterious form of Dark Father work in an interesting way. It gives her complex motives.

    You stopped too soon. You did the set up, but then did not really explore the spanking or birching by by forbidding mystery of this unusual bottom. I wanted more, the second half of the story.

  5. 5 DJ

    Thanks for the feedback guys

    Its a pity about the timing vis Halloween

    Mark who knows – I may pick up this particular baton again. In fact I have a full-length vampire novel in the pipeline – so maybe I’ll run an excerpt sometime.

  6. Lovely and wonderful.

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